White flesh, bent, rounded in faded light; ankles cuffed in discarded cloth. Hand as pendulum, keeping time with aim decadent, bringing life to the pale moon as roses splayed on a living canvas.
Thigh forced naked upon pleated knee. A lacquered wooded chair taking notes with squeaks of wood upon wood and a solitary window, undressed to the sun, looks from the corner, our private voyeur.
As the hand moves so moves the gam taut, an unspoken friction, the eternal embrace, biological, of hard to soft, of lust to desire, of intent that knows neither past nor the next hour. Urgent fragrants the air, an atmosphere heavy in breath, of control, of hair held as reins pulled tight, of neck curved to match the curve below, of neighing and braying as natural as the shearing of wool and the weaving of plaid.
"Whatcha writing?" asked Em.
"Nothing," replied Trev.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Don't look like nothing."
Before Trev could answer, Em snatched the note, her eyes racing left and right, growing wide above her rainbow cheeks. "Well now, I'd say this isn't nothing, nothing at all."
What occurred next was as two birds in a blue sky, a dance of feathers painting the sky, oblivious to the ground below.
6 comments:
I found your gallery with so much fun .. Your poetry is always there, always so beautiful .... Your images shines, the color is fantastic ... I can not be a poet in your language, but the words are scrambling in my mind while watching your work!
Thank's for those moments that you offer.
Pierre, your words warm my creative heart like a campfire in winter. Thank you madam. Your kind words are very much appreciated. :-)
your writing me reconcile with myself, with the world. With you the world is color, the words embellish life.:-)
Pierre, what a wonderful thing to say. Thank you for such a beautiful comment. I would hug you if I could. :-)
The claret velvet curtains pull back to dazzling colours chorusing across the floor to the flamboyant vibrations of the orchestra, the atmosphere is instantly charged, exhilaration passing through the crowds, attention arrested to the exclusion of all else. This piece is abso*lutely superb, incessantly orbiting (window undressed, sun as voyeur), brushing up closer than close, an intimate, sensual gyration so to speak. Word salsa :-D. Hot, hot, hot. Suggestive rather than telling, each sentence strokes the mind, ignites the imagination, arouses the senses, ascending. You have a tremendous ability to focus, to accentuate, nothing is superfluous, nothing diverts, all roads lead to Rome and each of them (expressions) spine-tinglingly scenic.
The words - :) no comment necessary.
The fractal? It is stunning. I wish that I had words to describe how beautiful it is. As pleasing as the written part of this chapter.
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